


With Teeth – a collaboration

by hotdogharvester



Series: "every breath you take" is not a love song [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Blindfolds, F/M, Kidnapping, Love Bites, Reader-Insert, Rough Kissing, Xenophilia, no fucking occurs but I wanted to be on the safe side, since it's a kidnapping situation you can't really say that ANY of it is consensual, this is not a good situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdogharvester/pseuds/hotdogharvester
Summary: I wrote and tumblr user CyanideOreo illustrated. This is a scene from what will eventually (hopefully) be a long story examining what might have happened if Tarn's existential crisis had taken a different shape and he had abducted a human working with the Autobots.





	With Teeth – a collaboration

**Author's Note:**

> http://shapeofmetal.tumblr.com/post/181583801189 LOOK AT THIS GOOD ART OR I'LL FUCKING SCREAM.

When Tarn walked into your cell already mass converted and announced he was going to blindfold you, you took a step back. That was all. You’ve gotten pretty good at marshaling your reactions.

“There’s something I’d rather you not see just yet. That’s all. I’m not going to inflict any great harm on you.”

You eye the dull tips of his fingers and the soft purple cloth dangling from his right servo.

“I’d really rather you didn’t, Tarn.”

You don’t sound as scared as you feel. He’s been grabby and forceful before but this is different. Losing your sense of sight in his presence, even if only temporarily, is terrifying in a specific and yet somehow unutterable way.

Sometimes addressing him by name makes him pause. Today, it doesn’t.

“I promise everything will be fine,” he insists.

Those words would be cold comfort even if he hadn’t kidnapped you: even if you weren’t completely and totally at his mercy. You murmur again that you would prefer he didn’t do this as he steps behind you and pulls the cloth over your eyes. He ties a double knot, taking care not to catch any of your hair in it. You’re not sure if it’s better or worse that he cares enough to do that.

Tarn steps away. Most likely he’s looking at you. You stand ramrod straight and try to keep your breathing under control. It’s hard not to fidget. You settle for clenching your hands into fists, focusing on your nails digging into your palms. If he was going to kill you he would have done it by now. He’s not going to kill you. Not on purpose. Not today. Whether you can make yourself believe it or not, anything he intends to do to you is survivable.

Heavy footsteps, stopping behind you. You’re shaking. You can’t help it. There’s a strange _click_ that you can’t identify the source of, then a smaller sound of something being set down on the floor. Before you can wonder what either sound indicates Tarn is ghosting his servos up and down your arms.

“Try to relax,” Tarn rumbles, his voice as soft as it can be.

You try, but only for your own sake.

He eases his thumbs into your fists and rubs circles against your palms before dragging his servos upward again.

“I know you’re only obeying me because you’re frightened. I understand. Nevertheless, I hope that someday soon, you’ll obey me because you _want_ to. That would be good for both of us, I think. It would be nice if you could take direction from me in a joyful instead of a fearful manner. If we could move in sync. If you would let me _lead_ you. But, I don’t blame you. Not at all. You need time to adjust, and I can be very patient.”

None of what he’s saying is helping you relax at all. His servos come to rest on your shoulders for a moment before he slides them forward to unbutton and then tug off your shirt. This may be the least relaxed you’ve ever been in your life.

Something soft brushes against the side of your neck: soft, but there’s a little drag as it catches on your skin. Reflexively, you reach up and your fingers find a large mouth with a broken lip. You gasp and try to pull away but Tarn seizes your hand in his and wraps his other arm around your waist. Flesh that isn’t flesh nuzzles into your touch. The scarred lips press strange, nibbling kisses to your wrist and forearm, tracing the big vein all the way to your elbow before moving back to your neck and shoulders.

“You have a _face_?”

Tarn ignores the question. His dentae drag up your neck. There’s a sharp nick in one side of them leaving scratches behind.

“I thought the mask…I thought that face plate was your face.”

“That _is_ my face, in a manner of speaking,” he whispers.

His lips are tickling your ear.

“You are now one of a very select number of people who know that something lies beneath it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asks.

“Why any of it?”

Tarn hums, as if in thought, and releases your hand to turn your face back toward him. Instead of answering he presses his mouth to yours in a gentle but insistent motion. Lightheaded and trembling, you kiss him back just as gently, a little whimper catching in your throat. Tarn slips his glossa into your mouth. He tastes dirty and metallic, like motel tap water, but there’s a hint of some other flavor in his oral lubricant that you can’t quite identify that has the hairs on your neck standing on end. It tastes the way ozone smells: like gathering pressure, like a storm about to break.

Tarn’s other servo rests for just a moment on your bare stomach before venturing upward to knead at your breasts. You moan around his glossa and he kisses you harder, pulling back slightly to bite your lower lip. The servo on your head drifts down to the lower half of your body, still clothed. Tarn takes a firm hold of your hip before pulling his mouth from yours with a wet sound. You moan again, louder, when he bites down on your shoulder and sucks. And then again, trailing off in a cry when he digs his dentae into the sensitive skin of your neck. Your hand finds one of his fingers and you squeeze it hard, white-knuckled, gritting your teeth through the mingled pain and pleasure.

Tarn mumbles something into your skin before nipping sharply at your other shoulder.

“What?” you hiss.

He whips his head up and purrs, “I said, ‘you’re so soft.’”

Tarn licks the side of your face and laughs a little when you jerk away. Even if he hadn’t laughed you can sense the smile on his face.

“Agh, don’t be gross,” you mumble before crying out when he pinches one of your nipples just a little too hard.

“Forgive me,” he breathes.

_Never_ , you think.

Tarn marks your upper back with a few more harsh, bruising kisses before scooping you up in his arms. He nuzzles into your hair, muttering against your scalp. Before you can ask what he’s doing he lays you on the berth and hauls himself up on top of you. In an instant he has you pinned down as firmly as any car crash victim, one servo holding your wrists over your head while the other palms your cheek. His knees are on either side of your legs, spreading wide to lower himself as far down as he can without resting any of his deadly weight on you.

Tarn drags his thumb over your lips.

“You look so alluring like this I can hardly stand it.”

He sounds as out of breath as an alien who doesn’t breathe can possibly sound. Your own breath is coming fast and shallow.

“If only you could see yourself right now. You should be under me all the time. At my service.”

Tarn finds the meeting of your jaw and neck and bites down hard enough to make you yell. He plants his lips on yours again and shoves his glossa into your mouth with such vigor you can’t keep up. It’s overwhelming, and your jaw aches with how wide open he has it. You can’t get enough air. His servo is sliding down your neck, down your chest, and a thrill of revulsion and arousal lances through you.

Tarn is so consumed with working you over that he doesn’t immediately notice when the blindfold catches on his helm. He moves to kiss your neck again and drags the blindfold down over your nose. You blink at the sudden light and get a surprising, limited view of what he’s kept hidden.

“Oh!”

Tarn’s optics snap open and he freezes. In the instant before he scrambles backwards you get an un-obscured view of his whole face and the strange, triangular wound that covers a third of it under his left optic.

You hear yourself say, “What the hell, you’re _handsome._ ”

Tarn bristles. You slap a hand over your mouth in horror. He doesn’t move or say anything. Shaking, you tug the blindfold off over your head.

“I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to see–”

“I know,” he replies, voice oddly flat.

Tarn taps one finger against his knee and says nothing else. He didn’t want you to see his face yet. He’s a volatile character at the best of times; odds are decent he might change his mind about this whole misadventure and strangle you right here. Still, you can’t help but ask about the wound. You don’t even have to feign interest.

“What happened?”

Tarn stands up and retrieves his mask from the floor, snapping it back into place before replying.

“Nothing of consequence. I can tell you about it some other time.”

He turns his optics back toward you, gaze lingering on the livid bites all over your neck and shoulders.

“I’ll return later.”

And then he’s out the door, leaving you confused, scared, and more than a little horny.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> HenriettaDarlington says, "you've got a very specific type, huh?"


End file.
